


Beds

by hannahhoppers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I'm posting a chapter later today (it's midnight) or tomorrow and it has the word miasma in it, and canon compliant through to now, bed sharing, canon compliant until around 3b, i dont even like bedshare fics so idk why i wrote this, miasma - Freeform, okay more than a little, some actual legitimate research went into some of this, then things are pretty much back to normal by 4a, then things get a little fix-it/divergence-ish, which is a really fun word, yeah this is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahhoppers/pseuds/hannahhoppers
Summary: 4 and a half times Emma Swan and Killian Jones share a bed.1 time they don't.And one more time they do.





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno. Maybe?

“Do I really have to share a bed with him?” She was acting like a child, and she knew it, but there was no way they could be serious. Due to a ransacking by the lost boys a few days prior, the Jolly had lost most of its hammocks and bedding— there were now only 4 usable beds, and seven people on the ship. 

 

            The obvious solution, of course, would be to have Regina or Gold magic up some extras. The problem was Regina had gotten a bit too… celebratory, after Henry had gone to bed, and was currently passed out in the captain’s cabin. Gold was refusing to help.

 

(“Well, why would I?” He’d asked, when they suggested he do some conjuring. “This really is quite amusing.”)

 

            They’d already put Regina and Henry in the same bed. It was quite obvious that Snow and Charming would be sharing. That left two beds, and three uncooperative people. 

 

“Emma, we really don’t have a lot of options. He’s better than Gold, right?” David pleaded.

 

“No offense taken.” The prince cast a glare and returned to his daughter.

 

“Why don’t Gold and Hook share?” A collective snort sounded from the group. “What?”

 

“You’re joking, right?”

 

“Alright. Bad suggestion. But seriously?”

 

“I can be a gentleman, love. I promise.” She cast a glance around— Gold’s smirk, her parents’ pleading look, Hook’s expectant, almost triumphant smile. 

 

“Fine. Whatever.”

 

            All exchanged goodnights and retired. Each bed in the crew cabin had a curtain around it; Emma drew theirs and slipped under the covers. Hook undid his brace and blew out the candle. 

 

“Goodnight, lass,” he said, flopping onto the bed, on top of the covers. 

 

“What are you doing?” she whispered after a moment.

 

“Trying to go to sleep?”

 

“No, I mean why are you on top of the covers?”

 

“Just trying to be a gentleman, love.” She sighed. She could be petty if she wanted to, but he didn’t do anything to deserve this. 

 

“You don’t have to sleep on top of the covers. Just behave and we won’t have any issue.”

 

“If you’re done chatting, some of us would like to sleep,” said the Scot. 

 

“Can it, Gold!” she responded. Killian grinned. 

 

“You’re sure?” he murmured. “Truly, if it makes you uncomfortable—”

 

“Just shut up and get under the blankets.”

 

“As you wish.” They each tossed and turned a little bit before finally settling. “G’night.”

 

“Night.”

 

            When they woke in the morning, still soaring in the sky, it was to Emma burrowed in most of the blankets, curled around herself, Killian clutching his pillow and shivering. 

 

“Looks like getting under the covers didn’t do me much good, love,” he chuckled.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that. Old habit.”

 

“No trouble.” He pulled himself to his feet and began to dress. “I’m about to head up. Care to join me?”

 

“Yeah, gimme a minute,” she yawned. “Or a couple. I’ll be up in a bit.” He nodded and ducked past the curtain. After a moment, she could hear his heavy boots clunking around on deck. 

 

            He really had behaved, last night. Her respect for him increased— maybe not enough to be friends, but at least good allies. With a sigh, she wiped at her eyes, ran her fingers through her hair, and pulled herself across the cabin to the ladder. 


	2. The Second Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I have no excuse for the delay. I was just a lazy procrastinator. This one's longer so maybe it'll help make up for that?

“Movie night’s at your place this week,” she said, poking him in the side. 

 

“I know,” 

 

“And you’d better have popcorn.”

 

“It was one time, Swan!”

 

“Kil, you can’t have movie night without popcorn.”

 

“Alright, I acquiesce. I screwed up movie night one time nearly a year ago.”

 

“It was our first movie, too.”

 

“Was it?”

 

“I think so. We were watching The Princess Bride, remember? And I wanted popcorn to throw at the screen when Westley died.”

 

Emma Swan and Killian Jones were best friends. He was a quiet baker from rural Ireland who had moved to New York a little while back to forget about a love lost. She was a single mother working communications for a local branch of a car company, in the big apple for a fresh start with her kid. 

 

At least, that’s what they thought. 

 

In reality, they were a pirate and a princess from the Enchanted Forest, both with their memories wiped clean and new ones in their place. Hers were gained as a gift from a reformed evil queen, his the cost of inter-realm travel between curses. They’d met (for the second time, though they didn’t know that) during an unfortunate incident involving central park, a frisbee, and a nasty bruise. An unexpected friendship bloomed between them, and all was well for a while. 

 

“You know what? You’re right.”

 

“I’m always right, Kil.”

 

Their bi-weekly Friday movie night rolled around. Henry made himself at home in the kitchen while the adults watched their movie in the separate living room— popcorn included. Emma’d had a long day and dozed off halfway through The Godfather. 

 

“Wake up, Em. Movie’s over.”

 

“Hmm? What time is it?” she mumbled. 

 

“Near eleven.”

 

“Mmm.” She sat up and stretched, popping her knuckles, neck and back. “I’m still exhausted.”

 

“And not fit to drive. C’mon.” He helped her up and led her by the hand to his room. She pulled a pair of pajamas out of his dresser as he headed to the bathroom to change. The thick flannel got set on the edge of the bed while she headed out to the kitchen. 

 

“We’re staying here tonight, kid.” She yawned. “Let’s get you set up on the couch.” Killian emerged as they started pulling off the cushions to get to the fold-out mechanism. 

 

“Nope,” he said, gently shoving her out of the way. “You go change, I’ll help the lad. You look a bit to out of it to do this safely.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“We’ll be fine. Go.”

 

“You’re the best.”

 

She did as he bid and snuggled under the covers. He joined her a few minutes later.

 

Being best friends, they’d shared beds more than a few times, and it wasn’t weird. Sure, Tina From Work thought it was strange, but Tina From Work also had a collection of beanie babies littering her desk and wore winter boots year-round, so she could keep her opinion to herself. They were just friends, nothing more. He was the guy who was brutally honest with her when she needed it and who she laughed until she cried at sometimes and who could convince her to dance around her kitchen when her favorite song came on while they made Sunday-night dinner. Her best friend, and nothing else. 

 

“Night, Em,” he said, tugging over some blankets preemptively because they both knew she’d try to steal them in the middle of the night. 

 

“G’night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week or two later, Henry told her in no uncertain terms that she was going out with Walsh that night. 

 

“And what about you?”

 

“Killian’s gonna come over.”

 

“And does Killian know about this?”

 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he?”

 

“And does Walsh?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Something tells me this was coordinated by you three.” He son gave her a look.

 

“What could possibly give that away?”

 

She went on the date. The chef set down a plate of ice cream as Walsh began a speech. When she looked down, there was a ring, encircled by a loop of chocolate syrup. 

 

“Emma, before you say anything, I know you probably think it’s too fast. It might be. And we don’t have to get married until you feel ready. But I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I was hoping maybe you might wear the ring until you decide?” She blew out a breath, long and slow, and closed her eyes. 

 

Eight months. They’d only been together eight months. And he was talking about getting married. It was insane, and _way_ too fast, and maybe a little bit sweet? Henry liked him. Killian, well… Killian didn’t really like the guy, but he put up with him because he knew Emma loved him. She loved him. She took another deep breath. 

 

“It’s too soon.” Opening her eyes, she said, “we aren't’ going to set a date yet, or anything else, but I’ll wear the ring.” Walsh’s face burst into a grin. 

 

(Outside was a short, whiskered man in a red cap, peering through the window at the couple. As Walsh slid the ring onto Emma’s finger, he grinned.)

 

As she smiled down at Walsh and her new ring, memories began flashing through her head. Storybrooke, her parents, Hook, Cora, Neverland, Hook, Henry, Pan, the Curse, driving out of town and into the great unknown. 

 

“Emma, you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I just, um… I think I ate too much. I’m not feeling well.”

 

“Let me pay the bill and then we’ll get you home, then.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How’d it go?” Henry asked as she opened the door. 

 

“Did you say yes?”

 

“Hold up, boys, I’m barely inside.”She kicked off her heels and grabbed a beer from the fridge before slumping on the couch next to Killian. Hook. Her best friend. Who might not actually be her best friend? 

 

God, why did things always have to get complicated?

 

He scooped up her hand. “I assume that it was a yes, then?”

 

“Yeah, Kil, I said yes.” She twisted the cap off her bottle a took a healthy gulp. 

 

“Congrats, Swan, I’m happy for you.”

 

“Yeah, Mom, this is great!” The pair squeezed her tight. She pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads. Nothing out of the ordinary to them, but a test for her. Maybe she could bring their memories back?

 

Henry didn’t seem any different, but Killian ( _Hook_ , she reminded herself) pulled back, looking dizzy. 

 

Vaguely, she heard Henry asking him if he was alright. More loudly, though, was the sound of her thoughts crashing like tidal waves. _The kiss woke him up. The kiss woke him up._

 

“You don’t look so good,” she said to Killian, forcing her mind to keep quiet. He didn’t respond. _Maybe his memories are coming back slower. He_ does _have more of them_. After some time, he opened his (now bloodshot) eyes. “Let’s get you to bed, Kil.” 

 

“Aye, that’s… a good idea.” 

 

She slipped his arm around her shoulders and, as they stood, whispered, “Pretend you’re sick. Henry needs to think you aren’t feeling well,” in his ear. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod and staggered to her room beside her. He didn’t have to fake the dumbfounded drop of his jaw as he slumped onto her unmade bed. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. 

 

“Why now?” she groaned. 

 

“I think… I might know the answer to that,” he answered tentatively. “Storybrooke’s in trouble.”

 

“Storybrooke doesn’t exist anymore.”

 

“It didn’t until recently. But there’s been another curse.”

 

“God, not again.”

 

“”fraid so.”

 

“Alright. We go to bed, and then in the morning we head to Maine with Henry. And solve whatever this problem is and keep it from him what we’re doing because his memories haven’t come back yet, and…” She took a deep breath and let herself slide down to the floor. “Why couldn’t things have just stayed simple?” He didn’t respond for a while. 

 

Eventually, he stood, helped her to her feet, and they got ready to go to sleep. Lying in the darkness, neither managed to. 

 

“You still awake?” he whispered.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Can we talk?”

 

“What do you want to talk about?” A litany of possibilities paraded through her mind. Why her kiss woke him up. Whether they were still friends. Walsh. Why her kiss woke him up. What they were going to tell Henry. How he even managed to get to New York. Why her kiss woke him up. So distracted was she by all of it that she didn’t hear his “Swan, I know that the past year hasn’t been quite real—” and cut him off with her own “Listen, I don’t know why it kiss worked, but it _can’t_ be that so there’s got to be some other explanation, and—”

 

“Whoa, whoa, love. Hold up. What are you on about?” 

 

“I dunno why you woke up when I kissed your forehead.” 

 

“Oh, that. Well, um…” His hand came up to scratch behind his ear, and _wow_ that’s something she hasn’t seen in a while. “We can talk about that later, if you’d like?”

 

“Thanks.” A silence began to lapse. “What did you start to say?”

 

“Where do we stand, at the moment?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We’ve been best friends for the past year, Em. Er, Swan. And that’s been real, but our memories weren’t, and so…”

 

“I dunno, Kil. You’re still my friend. We’re still friends, just maybe not best friends? There’s a reason we weren’t always allies back in Storybrooke and everything.”

 

“Right, right.”

 

“But you’ve still been the best, for a year now. So I’m thinking we scale it back a little bit, just until we can figure all of this out?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And you can keep calling me Em, if you want. You don’t have to go all last-name navy commander on me.” He just smiled. “We good?”

 

“We’re good, Em.”

 

“Alright. See you in the morning?”

 

“Aye. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Killian loses his memories as the cost for going after Emma-- but Smee doesn't. He rigs the ring with memory potion. Also, Walsh is completely innocent.


	3. The Third Time

After a while, Emma convinced herself it was platonic true love that woke him up— it's how Pan started the dark curse, so maybe that's how she woke Killian up from it. Their use of “Em” and “Kil” waned over the course of the next two crises. But that friendship started coming back, and then it started strengthening, and then everybody knew that they were a little (okay, a lot) more than friends. That all really came to light after the ice cave fiasco.

 

“I can see her! Emma!” Her father and he pulled her from the chink in the ice. 

 

“Let’s get her home, warmed up,” David said as she clutched to a frantic Killian. What followed was an exchange—a question whispered with clenched eyes, an assurance uttered through blue lips. Her legs melted beneath her and so he hoisted her up, sailor’s arms holding her strong on the walk back to the truck. 

 

On the drive back, he clasped her tight as her teeth chattered and her bones quaked. His touch was scorching, but she just nestled into him tighter because it helped. 

 

“You’ve got to stay awake, love,” he murmured against her hair when she started to slacken. “Can’t have you going comatose on us again, now can we?” And she laughed a little, a frail, shaking sound but it warmed her a little bit from the inside out. 

 

“I’m going to be okay,” she rasped. “You don’t have to worry.”

 

“I’m never not going to worry, Swan, you know that.”

 

“You can worry a little less, then.”

 

They kept talking, and before she knew it they were home. 

 

“Easy, there,” he said when she stumbled out of the car, stiffened joints threatening to send her toppling. He lifted her arm around his tense shoulders and helped her inside. She dropped into a chair as soon as she was able and he dusted the snow out of her hair as David and Elsa got blankets. 

 

After a few hours, her cheeks regained their color and she started dozing off in her chair. The sleeping savior didn’t see Hook’s silent question to her father, or the prince’s wordless nod. She didn’t feel him scooping her up and carrying her to bed. 

 

To some degree, she could feel her fingers tangling with his as he bundled her beneath the covers. Still slightly numb, shuddering not from cold but from her close brush with death, she couldn’t handle the thought of being alone now, even as she slept. And so, exhausted almost to the point of delirium, she whispered, “stay.”

 

“A’right, love,” he murmured. He untwined their hands so he could twist his hook from the brace and slide into bed beside her. Immediately, she rolled towards him and nuzzled into his chest. After some time, he wrapped his arm around her. “Gods, you scared the life out of me, Swan.” Of course, she didn’t respond, being asleep. Try as he might, he couldn’t do the same. About a half hour of this and he gave up, choosing instead to be her watchman. 

 

In the moonlight splicing through the curtains, he caught sight of a cut on her forehead. Quietly, he crept out of the room and downstairs. After a bit of digging and a few nearly-spoken curses (there was far too much furniture in the loft to be safe), he found the first aid kit.

 

He returned to Emma’s side and sat, crosslegged, on the bed beside her to patch her up. As he worked, he talked quietly. 

 

“I was bloody terrified today, love. You could’ve died. I don’t know I could’ve handled that. No, I do know. I couldn’t— can’t. Can’t handle even the thought of losing you, love. You’re— the light, Swan. The light in my life, and today, you were flickering. And I was absolutely petrified.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I wouldn’t tell you this if you were awake. I think you’d run if I did. Goodnight, darling.” He put away the bandages and tucked himself in once more. Finally, he fell asleep.


	4. The Fourth Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our precious savior searches out her pirate for comfort after a traumatizing nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where that research mentioned in the tags happened. I learned... all sorts of things. Elements and tarot cards and number symbolism-- apparently planet Neptune is associated with water and the number nine is associated with neptune, and also in the Chinese system of elements the number one is associated with water? So that's how we arrived at nineteen for Killian's room number at Granny's. And the sea shanty is a real one from northern England in the 1800s. That's just the tip of the iceberg, too!

Coarse, salty water grating against her skin, clogging up her airways. A bone-deep chill and she’s only been this cold once before, but this is worse because she can’t even _breathe_. She can’t find up— no matter which way she turns, she’s always being tugged the opposite direction. Tidal waves keep pulling her under, or over, she really can’t tell at this point. Body buffeted by the sea, endless sea, disoriented and frightened. Her heart is beating fast, making her chest hurt all the more, already smarting from the ocean’s blood. 

 

            She keeps her mouth clamped shut and tries not to breathe in but it’s absolutely hopeless, her lungs are doing as they please whether she wants them to or not. It feels more like skinned knees, amplified, than any sort of stinging or burning, if she’s honest, and that’s the last thought she has before the waters drag her away and into the dark. 

 

            She sat up in bed, dripping wet. It took her a minute to register that it was cold sweat, not seawater. It took even longer to get her breathing back to normal. Shivering, she yanked a bathrobe over her pajamas and shoes onto her feet, before blowing out of the loft like a hurricane. 

 

            She could still taste salt as she marched across town.

 

            Honestly, she probably looked a sight, but it didn’t really matter. Snappy cold batted at her, forcing through her thin pajamas easily, but she wasn’t paying attention to that. Just one step after another,swiping at her eyes when it became difficult to see, until she was at the bed and breakfast and pounding on old, weathered door number 19. She had no idea how long she stood there, banging on the wood, before Killian, yawning, opened the door. 

 

            She barely hesitated before crashing into his arms. He stood, rigid, for a moment. Recovering, he quickly enfolded her in his own arms, breathing deep and holding her for a long while in the doorway. Eventually, he closed the door and walked them backwards so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, her in his lap. She knotted her arms around him tighter and buried her face in his neck.

 

“You alright, love?”

 

“No,” she mumbled, shaking her head. 

 

“You want to tell me why not?”

 

            Maybe she was acting a little bit childish. Fine. Sue her, then, but she was upset and she didn’t have to deal with it by herself anymore. Besides, didn’t he say something a while back about getting a distress call and being on the spot? 

 

“Had a nightmare.”

 

“Mmm. I see.” He started to rock back and forth, rubbing big, open-palmed circles over her back. “Would you like to talk about it?” 

 

            Not really, because that would make it feel a little less distant, make her feel a little less safe. Safe, like the way the sleeves of her leather jackets clung to her like an embrace. Safe, like the consistent roof over her head and her steady job. Safe, like the way he smiled and assured and hugged her close. Safe, like the thick wood of his ship protected her from tumbling waters below. Take that away and she was flailing, disoriented, breathing in but lungs unfeeling, she’s bleeding, freezing, needing air, pleading, eyes squeezing and trying to wheeze, tumult of waves ever unceasing, the depersonalization becoming freeing, in the salt her eyes unseeing, drowning, floundering, her thoughts clouding, darkness surrounding, head pounding, now she’s shouting, screaming, and her every thought is fleeting, why is this torment not receding, her limits she is far exceeding, unconsciousness is sounding appealing and in the real world, she’s weeping, choking, heaving, barely breathing. So would she like to talk about it?

 

            Not really.

 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright. We don’t have to talk.” Instead he separated her from him and gestured for her to lay down. She did, and he pulled the shoes from her feet before tucking her in. He kissed her fingertips, then lay down beside her. “ _Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly, blow the wind south o’er the bonnie blue sea_.”

 

            As he sang, her hiccuping slowed. Through the melody, she found a steady beat to breathe to, smooth gulps of air gliding down her throat and filling her flimsy-feeling lungs. 

 

“ _Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly, blow bonnie breeze my true lover to me._ ” He started smoothing his hand through her curls, brushing them out of her face and patiently combing out tangles. “ _They told me last night, there were ships in the offing, and I hurried down, to the deep rolling sea. But my eye could not see it, wherever might be it, the bark that is bearing, my lover to me._ ” He hummed for a little while after he ran out of lyrics, still carding his fingers through her sunny tresses. 

 

“You have a really nice voice.”

 

“Thank you.” She hummed in response and let her eyes close. Sleepily, “Feeling better?”

 

“Yeah. That really helped.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

“Thank you, Killian. Really.”

 

“Mmm. It’s no problem. You should get some sleep, aye? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

“Alright. G’night.”

 

“G’night, Swan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poetry? (I've been thinking about getting into slam poems so there might be some of that on the way, maybe this is as far as I'll go. We'll see.)


	5. A Half Time

“And, since then, I wasn’t really great at making friends. August,” she said, emphasizing the name, “was the rare exception. That’s why this is so important to me. There’s nothing else going on. Really.” 

 

Normally, she wouldn’t reveal this much at one time. He’d have to fight her for her story, wrestling with gentle touches and smiles, assurances and patience. But somehow, cracks had started forming and she needed to stuff them up before they become crevices and canyons, because she knew, _she knew_ that her and him falling apart would break her. 

 

Some sort of expression flitted across his face but he was looking out the window before she could decipher it. 

 

“What?”

 

“Emma, look,” he said, pulling at the curtain. Some sort of miasma was whipping through town.

 

“What the hell is tha—”

 

She was cut off, and her cheek dropped onto his vest. 

 

Immediately, some sort of mental film reel of moments began.

 

_“Even if you don’t believe in the curse… or me,” he said, tearing off a bite from the turnover, “I believe in you.” And he dropped to the floor, thudding instead of cracking, and oh,_ God _, no, please no, he didn’t do anything, no!_

 

_But then the rest of the memory hazed by, blurry recollections of manhandling the evil queen and fighting a dragon, until she was kissing her dying_ (dead) _son’s clammy forehead, clear as day, and he was gasping awake and the curse was broken._

 

_She was leaping off the side of the Jolly Roger, hoping and praying her crew, her people, would cooperate long enough to save her. But then, there are no guarantees in life besides taxes and death. And she was choking on sand and drowning_ (she’s been here before, where? when?) _and then it was all gone to nothing. Black out._

 

_But then, something tugged at her, and soon she was able to breathe again, coughing up Neverland water, and her eyes opened to a clear sky and brilliant moon. The smell of hope lingered in the wood for hours._

 

_He was standing there, glued to the ground by ice that should’ve been melting in the early summer heat. David was doing his best to chip away at it but a flimsy screwdriver wasn’t much use against a sorceress. Icicles were falling, sharper than knives and her stamina was fading. She was running low on juice, and if she couldn’t get it together, the blood of her father and her… the blood of her father and of Killian would be on her hands. She shook her fingertips, nothing. Eyes clenched, she tried to bring emotion simmering to the surface. Fear, that would have to work because she currently had a surplus and not much of anything else._

 

_One final flick of her hands and they were tossed across the clearing to safety._

 

Over and over, memories looped. Each spun the tale of near-disaster, only to be stopped at the last moment. Hadn’t Henry’s book said something about a sleeping curse giving you dreams about your worst regrets and nightmares?Why, then, was she dreaming of tragedy prevented by rescue?

 

After what felt like a couple hours’ worth of dream-events, everything stopped. She opened her eyes to a red room, with red curtains, filled with red fire. Henry’s netherworld. 

 

“Emma!” she turned. He was crouching on the floor, arms coming up to shield him from the tongues of fire lapping at his coat. 

 

“Killian.” Maybe her magic would work here? She shook her hands, willing water to shoot out of them. 

 

It worked. 

 

Slowly, she put out every fire in the room, ’til they were left with nothing more than singed red curtains and a feeling like the A/C had broken in the dead of summer. Still, it was better than hellfire.

 

“You okay?” they asked at the same time, then nodded. He reached out for her hand but just as well might’ve been clutching at air. 

 

“We’re in a netherworld. Can’t touch each other.”

 

“How’d we get here?”

 

“I’m guessing a sleeping curse, or a spell? Must be what that purple haze was.” He was halfway through humming in response when another tendril of flame grew from the ground like some sort of perverse plant. It tangled its roots around her ankles and dragged her away, spiraling into a tornado before he could react. 

 

She jolted awake, back in her body in the loft. Snow was leaning away from her forehead, eyes lighting up in delight when Emma gasped. 

 

“Alright. Maternal true love, you’re awake,” she chirped.

 

“But what about Hook?” 

 

Mary Margaret didn’t respond. She just cast a knowing look Emma’s way and tugged David out the door.

 

In the reverberation of it thumping into the frame, she began to… well, panic was too strong, but worry wasn’t quite right either. Maybe the uber-English “fret.” Yeah. She began to fret— would her kiss really wake him up? She wasn’t ready to say I love you yet (whether or not she loved him was probably a question to handle later with a girlfriend and probably a glass or two of wine), much less confirm whether they were true love. Platonic soulmates, she’d decided somewhere on a highway in New Hampshire. But was that all they could ever be? Platonic soulmates who spent some time kissing and might get marrie— _that_ was a thought for later. With the whole bottle of merlot. 

 

It was only when she realized he was still stuck in the Netherworld that she quit agonizing and finally pressed her lips firmly against his. Nothing, for a moment, but then he sat up, gasping. 

 

“We’re not going to talk about how I just woke you up, understood?” His brows knit in confusion, then his lips parted in understanding, then his cheeks stretched into an overly-smug smile as he nodded.

 

“Whatever you say, Swan.”

 

He glanced down at his shirt, whereupon she pointedly ignored his grin at the little puddle of drool she had apparently left. 

 

“We’re not talking about that either.”


	6. The Time they Didn't

Dark ones don’t need sleep. And when she was a fledgling, she couldn’t do anything about the insomnia but whittle dreamcatchers and shout down the voices in her head. But now that she’d given in, she’d been given more power.

 

Power enough to conjure up a potent elixir which would let her to sleep like a mortal if she wanted to. 

 

Of course, she didn’t know about that the first few nights. Those hours from twilight to dawn, she cast simple soundproofing charms so she could scream freely. 

 

Huge, lung-wrenching wails not tearing but slashing out of her throat, rubbing it raw like flesh shaved off in sheets, to the bone. Sobs made her entire body quake, rocking so hard that she fell off the couch more than once at their force. Her cheeks cycled through circuits of burning then tingling then being so dried out from the salt in her tears that it felt like her skin has been stretched too tightly over her face, almost like plastic wrap. Her body tore itself apart at the guilt of doing what she’d done to him. 

 

She didn’t deserve someone like him. She, who spend years stealing for the rush and squatting in abandoned hotel rooms for a few hours of sleep, she, at the center of crisis after crisis for, what? Six years now? That is, if you don’t count the first one, 28 years long. 

 

But Killian was a good man. Sure, he’d screwed up. But give a person a few centuries of immortality and they were bound to make a few mistakes; besides, most of them had been part of his quest to avenge the ones who’d been unfairly taken from him. And now, he’d done nothing but support and help and care for her since Neverland. And how did she repay him? With selfishness, by yanking his soul from his body and throwing it into a boxing ring, one to six million, jam-packed with every demon he’d tortured himself to stave off. 

 

The guilt didn’t just gnaw at her. It devoured her with gusto, picking all of the meat off her bones and sucking out the juicy marrow, feasting on her conscience, all of it topped with a dipping sauce of shame.

 

The guilt didn’t go away for years, but the sobbing only lasted for three days.

 

The next four nights, she lay awake on the bed in the room he’d picked out just for them. (And each time, she lay on what would’ve been his side of the bed, hoping against all sense that maybe some of his smell would be clinging to the pillows, despite the fact he’d never set foot in the room). 

 

Every night after that, she dosed herself on dark-one affecting sleeping draught. Just before dozing off she registered how hollow the bed felt with just her in it, curled up in the fetal position on her side of the mattress. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely gonna bend canon in the next chapter. There're going to be some changes. Forewarning.


	7. One More Time They Did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my mind on the canon-bending. Technically we never found out how long it was between seasons 5 and 6 so I'm saying they spent a few weeks on the Jolly before heading back to her house for that lovely scene with the red leather jacket.

            Everything, for a moment, quieted. They checked in with the Charmings at Granny’s, then ambled back to the Jolly, arms tangled around one another, giggling and stealing kisses the whole way. When they stumbled onto the ship, tripping into a pile of limbs, drunk off each other, their eyelids began to droop. 

 

            It had been a long… well, they’d both lost track, really. Between the Queens of Darkness, being Dark Ones, and the underworld, neither of them had really had time to sleep in what felt like forever. 

 

“Let’s head below deck, first, love.” She just hummed at him, perfectly content right where she was. Groaning, he pulled himself up. She made no move to do the same, just basked in the warmth of the wooden planks and the rush of succeeding. “Swan?” Nothing. “Emma.” Nope. “Emma, wake up, love.” Nada. No words, at least. She couldn’t contain the cheeky grin spilling out of her lips, unbidden. 

 

“What am I going to do with you,” he sighed, crouching. She cracked open one eye, then the other. 

 

            Giggling, she said, “I don’t know. I guess you’ll just have to love me, or something.” She sat up to kiss him. 

 

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” He smiled against her lips. “Do you want to head down and catch a few winks?”

 

            Her smile faded the teeniest bit. If she slept, she might not wake up to him by her side. She might wake up to the river of souls or to storybrooke, with him still gone. And besides, she wanted to cling to this high for as long as possible. So she shook her head. 

 

“That’s okay.” He offered his hand and they stood. “Dance with me?”

 

            And instead of some Enchanted Forest waltz he just looped his arms around her waist while she held onto his shoulders. If she closed her eyes and imagined the smell of a high school gym, caked-on makeup, and spiked fruit punch, it could almost be the prom she never got to attend.He hummed a little ditty under his breath, quiet and peaceful in a way that made her wonder whether he actually realized he was doing it. 

 

            After a little while of swaying, she let her head loll against him. 

 

“Tired, love?”

 

“Of course not.” He kept humming. 

 

“You know, I seem to recall a promise you made me on the roof of a library. Something about you resting after we defeated Hades?” 

 

“Do I have to?” she whined. _That_ sounded far too like her 15 year old son to be normal. He raised an eyebrow. 

 

“You’re exhausted, Swan. What’s wrong?”

 

“Nightmares. You might not be there when I wake up, which is worse. I feel really good right now and don’t want to give that feeling up. Take your pick.” 

 

“Alright. How about we go below deck and watch a film on your phone? If you fall asleep, you fall asleep, but you don’t have to. Just rest for a bit, aye? And I promise I’ll be there when you wake up.”

 

“Fair enough.”How did he always have the best solutions? It was almost uncanny. 

 

            She borrowed one of his big nightgowns— not without an Ebenezer Scrooge joke— and crawled into the bed. She figured they’d stay on the ship for a while and she could make good on her promise before they headed back to her house. (To be honest, she didn’t know if she could even handle the sight of it right now.) 

 

            He unlocked her phone. “What are we watching, this afternoon? We’ve seen that one… that one… hmm. What’s this? Peter Pan?”

 

“Oh, you’re just going to _love_ that,” she laughed, stealing it and tapping play. She bit her lip to keep her grin from bursting for the first twenty or so minutes, just until the red-coated pirate came on screen. 

 

“What is this?” he spluttered. “Is that supposed to be me?” Her laugh rang out like a bell. He couldn’t help but chuckle along. “Ridiculous. I hope you realize how absolutely ridiculous this is, Swan, honestly.” 

 

            She’d been waiting for a couple of years, now, to show him this. Every possible reaction had at some point crossed her mind— from hysterical laughter to suing Mickey Mouse. She hadn’t expected to be doubling over in laughter at the face he made, though.

 

“That bad, huh?” she wheezed. He closed his eyes and shook his head, lips pressed together but smiling nonetheless. 

 

“Absolutely terrible.” She nestled closer to him. “It’s good to hear you laugh like that again, love. It’s been too long.”

 

            A yawn cracked out and she couldn’t help but groan at herself internally. They still had a movie to finish. His hand came up to stroke her cheek. 

 

“Sleep, love. You look completely spent.”

 

“Wake me up in a few hours?” 

 

“Deal.” 

 

            It was around midnight when she opened her eyes. A candle was burning on the wooden shelf behind them, lighting up the print in the book in his hand. 

 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he yawned. 

 

“We said a few hours!” 

 

“You never defined ‘a few.’” Her lip quirked, just a little bit. “Besides, you needed it. To be honest, a few more hours would probably do you a lot of good.” She hummed and sat. He yawned again as he dogeared his page and set the book aside.

 

“Were you keeping watch over me?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Hey. You need sleep, too. You’re no more invincible than I am.”

 

“Aye, but you were concerned about nightmares, earlier. I needed to be able to wake you if you were having one.” And… yet again, proof that a reformed scoundrel is better than a knight in shining armor any day. 

 

“You need to get some sleep, Killian. You’ve been running on adrenaline for the same amount of time.”

 

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying up with you, I just might need a coffee or something first.”

 

“It’s fine, Killian. Seriously. Get some rest, okay?” 

 

“Aye, love. Goodnight.”

 

What he was really saying was _I love you._

 

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this has been fun. We should do this again sometime, yeah?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the show or the characters, so I'm playing with them. Adam and Eddy have such nice toys. Unbeta'd. Kudos and comments if you enjoy!


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